For Evergreen
by Jeanne Feuers
Summary: Family mediator Ganet flies to Idaho to reconcile a man named Abel to his wife Saba. When she unexpectedly wakes up in Wayward Pines Hospital,she's greeted by a funny old man who believes *she's* Saba. Amusing, she thinks (to David Pilcher,all East Africans look alike), until Abel whispers, "I know you're not my wife, but if you want to live, you have to play along." (60 ch coming)
1. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

 **Now**

Ganet Fekadu clenched her teeth against the bombardment of pain: the aching in her legs from her attempt at running, the jabbing in her back from the zigzagging wires of the rusty bed frame, the throbbing in her wrists and ankles where handcuffs secured her to the headboard and foot. But none of that could distract her from her dread listening to Sheriff Pope's jolly whistle and the rasp, rasp, rasp as he sharpened his knife.

 _I have to keep my wits._ Ganet had seen Pope whip up a mob to murder a sweet, blameless woman she'd considered a friend. She couldn't let herself be intimidated by the smile that wreathed his face when his eyes strayed to poor Abel slumped in the corner.

Despite the twinge when she twisted her head, Ganet had to assure herself he was still alive. _Yes, praise God_. Chained to the radiator by his arms, chest and legs, her dear sweet Abel was bruised and bloody, yet he breathed.

He might not love her—not like he loved Saba—but he hadn't wanted to leave her at the mercy of the sheriff. Ganet had to do something so that good deed wasn't his last.

Pope pulled a hair from his head. He tested it against his knife. His grin broadened.

Ganet swallowed but didn't flinch. Even here, under the control of the vilest man upon the face of the earth, she had skills that could win her freedom and Abel's as well.

 _I'm a licensed clinical social worker, aren't I?_

All she had to do was get that telephone to ring.

 **One Week Earlier (Give or Take)**

All the telephones were ringing—all except Ganet's. She looked up from her desk, across the empty cubicles and through the glass window of the break room. Cheryl's surprise engagement party was bubbling over with balloons, torn wrapping paper and soda pop toasts in plastic cups. Without a ringing phone, what excuse did she have not to join in? None. At least none that wouldn't require an explanation she didn't want to give.

 _I kind of, maybe broke up with my boyfriend last night—right in the middle of my first get-to-know-you visit with his parents. I didn't want my bad night to cast a shadow on your good day. But congratulations! I chipped in for the running shoes. Hope you like them. And a piece of advice: don't take your condo out of your name. Thank goodness I didn't._

One by one, the telephones in the other cubicles fell silent. With a sigh, Ganet pushed her chair back from her desk. _Time to go offer best wishes_.

Then her telephone rang.

 _Saved by the bell!_

She picked up the receiver. "Trust, Inc. Family is our business. How may I help?"

"Is this Ganet? Ganet Fekadu?"

 _A client asking for me personally?_ "Do you want to make an appointment?" As she spoke, she caught movement at the open doorway that led to the main foyer. A middle-aged man with shaggy brown hair had stretched out the receiver cord on the reception desk phone to take a look at her. As their eyes met, he smiled.

"No need. I'm already here."

 _A_ _new client_. An intake interview would easily use up the remaining twenty minutes scheduled for Cheryl's party. "Come on back, Mister…"

"Doctor—Dr. Oscar Keefers."

"I'm waiting for you."

As the new client strode down the row of cubicles, Ganet pulled up a fresh intake form on her computer and typed in his name. Swiveling her chair, she glanced at the interview rules taped to the frosted glass between her and the next desk. When she heard the visitor's chair scrape, she quickly turned back around.

Dr. Keefers wore wire-rimmed glasses and a rumpled brown suit at least one size too big. He was that odd combination of skinny limbs and potbelly that came from too much sitting at a desk, yet he had the lofty gaze and benevolent smile of a man who spent his time bestowing wisdom. A doctor of philosophy then, not a physician. More than anything, he looked like one of her professors from graduate school. In other words, someone who'd have a hard time taking her seriously.

Ganet ran through her repertoire of warm-up questions and decided on the most innocuous: "I hope you didn't have a hard time finding us."

"Hard time?" Dr. Keefers chuckled. "That doesn't begin to describe it. You wouldn't believe what a hard time I've had finding you. My goal is to reconcile my sister-in-law and my brother. And you're the perfect one to do it."

Ganet nodded. She hadn't held her current position long, but she was already used to hearing _you_ when clients were really referring to her employer. "Yes, Trust Inc. is one of the most highly regarded family mediation and reconciliation practices around." _Basically, social workers for rich people._

"I'm sure it is, but I didn't mean your company." Dr. Keefers leaned forward. "I meant you—Ganet Fekadu. You're the perfect one to help reconcile my brother and my sister-in-law. You see, her name is Saba Iskander. Like you, she's a Habesha." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to a photograph.

 _Interview rule one, establish rapport._ Ganet glanced down at a serious young woman in her early twenties with high cheekbones, a long straight nose and skin the color of roasted coffee. _Her family's from East Africa, all right._ _Habesha—like me._

A tall young man with bright blue eyes and brown hair even shaggier than his brother's stood behind Saba, hugging her so tightly his hands clasped under her breasts. She was cuddled into him as if nothing could ever go wrong that would require reconciliation.

Applause broke out from the break room. Ganet glanced up. Cheryl was displaying the "Fifty Secrets of a Happy Marriage" poster Manager Judy had framed for her.

 _Good luck with that._ Ganet returned to her task. _Rule two, look for clues_. Saba favored the big hair look popular three decades back—masses of loose curls on top of her head and tumbling down her shoulders. Her husband's tie was incredibly narrow. Either this couple was into retro or the picture was uselessly old.

 _Rule three, ask open-ended questions._ When Ganet couldn't think of one, she tried, "How long ago was this taken?"

Dr. Keefers took his wallet back and stared it. "Abel is twenty-seven in this photo. He's twenty-eight now."

Ganet raised her eyebrows. Dr. Keefers looked closer to sixty—the same age difference as between her father and his youngest brother. Of course, he had ten siblings in between. A woman having one baby then deciding two decades later, _Oh, guess I'll have another_ , would be an uncommon pattern. _Rule four,_ _let them talk,_ only worked when a client wasn't quietly staring back like Dr. Keefers. Time for _rule five, request clarification._ "How large is your family?"

Dr. Keefers leaned back. "Just the two of us. And before you ask, we have the same mother and father. I'm just… a lot older now."

 _What an odd way to put it._ But Ganet decided to forego clarification and be direct. "Why are you the one arranging for reconciliation? Isn't it more usual for the couple to arrange it for themselves?"

Dr. Keefers's mouth twitched. "At the moment, they're not really in a position to do that. Hard to explain. Trust me. What you need to know is that it's my fault they're separated. I'm doing the best I can to make things right."

Ganet didn't have to consider _rule six, screen for red flags._ This one was waving in her face. "So… Saba and your brother have no idea you're trying to hire us?"

Dr. Keefers shrugged. "If Saba's relatives were here, they'd call a family counsel. All her brothers, sisters…"

"…cousins, aunties, uncles. Yes, you know the culture. But you don't know that's what Saba and Abel want." _Instead, you're trying to be your brother's keeper._

Dr. Keefers gazed down at his photo again. "I'm just trying to right a wrong. All I'm asking is that you go talk to Abel. I'm sure it won't be long before you see I'm correct. I've checked you out thoroughly. There's no doubt in my mind. You're the best choice."

 _Thinks he can tell me how to do my job. Double red flags._ Despite that, Ganet kept her expression neutral. "If you can get your brother to come in, someone could talk to—"

"You don't understand. He can't come here. Someone has to go to him. That can be arranged, can't it? And that someone has to be you."

 _Dr. Keefers thinks I can work a miracle. Double red flags crossing and waving_. Ganet laced her fingers. "I mostly do intake. Some children's interviews. A little fact-finding. I've never handled a reconciliation—"

"Children's interviews? That's another reason you're perfect. There is a child—my niece Candace." Dr. Keefers flipped to another photo and held it up. In this one, a slightly younger Saba was hugging a giggling four-year-old.

 _Ganet felt her heart melt._ _Adorable._ "She's with her mother?"

"No."

Ganet pressed her lips together. _Abel has her_ — _using her as a pawn in his squabbles with his wife_.

"I've looked up your qualifications," Dr. Keefers continued. "You have your masters in social work and your clinical license. You're certified in family mediation and arbitration."

"Yes, but someone a little more experienced—"

"Won't have your special understanding. Habeshas are different."

 _You're more than a little different yourself._ Ganet held her tongue. _Rule seven, don't judge._

"Let me tell you a little more about Saba and Abel." Dr. Keefers smiled. "I'm confident that after you hear their story, you'll help me work this out."

 **Later**

As Friday afternoon dragged on, Ganet kept sneaking in Internet searches. Dr. Oscar Keefers was easy to find. Apparently, he wasn't a professor, but he was a Ph.D.—a noted biologist in the field of cryogenics.

According to the Internet, Abel Keefers—unless she'd heard the name wrong—didn't exist. She couldn't identify a likely Saba Iskander either.

 _Did I mess up both their names? Stupid. If I can't_ _even gather accurate information on an intake form, what hope do I have of being assigned the case?_

When her manager came strolling down the row of cubicles, dangling a large manila envelope, Ganet quickly clicked to the Stress Inventory Assessment she was in the middle of evaluating.

Judy stopped. "Missed you at Cheryl's party."

Ganet was glad her complexion obscured flushing. "I was just going to come when a new client walked in."

"About that—" Unexpectedly, Judy smiled and began swinging the envelope at her side. "I read your intake form. Well done. I think you analyzed the salient points quite well."

"Thank you."

"And I agree with the client. You're perfect for the case."

 _I am_? Ganet broke into a smile. _Yes, I am._ "Dr. Keefers wants someone to go see his brother. Apparently, an unannounced visit. I've done that sort of thing during my internship with Children's Services. I have my own car."

Judy laughed. "I don't think you'll want to drive your car to this interview. It's in Idaho."

 _Idaho?_

"After we agreed to terms, Dr. Keefers made arrangements." Judy held up the envelope. "I've printed out everything—plane tickets, rental car, lodging and a generous allowance for meals and incidentals. Four days. You're leaving in the morning."

Ganet was still trying to wrap her head around Idaho. "The only travel I've ever done is flying from Los Angeles to the East Coast and back." _My first field assignment for Trust, Inc. and I'm going to Idaho?_

"I have faith in you. And I think you'll have fun. You'll be going to a little town in the Rocky Mountains. It sounds like a vacation resort—Wayward Pines."


	2. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **Friday Night**

"Why are you here, Yonas? Can't you see I'm packing?" _Can't you see I want you to go away_?

Yonas continued standing in the middle of Ganet's bedroom floor, thumbs in his jeans pockets, feet spread apart, steadfast.

 _That's not the attitude you showed last night when your mama asked how you could date an Eritrean after your great uncle Birhane was killed fighting the Eritrean People's Liberation Front_. Ganet walked around him and flung open her closet door. How did one dress for a mid-May jaunt into the Rockies? She grabbed one pair of tailored slacks, two pairs of jeans, one button-down shirt, three T-shirts and a peasant blouse. She glanced over her shoulder at Yonas then grabbed her slinky red club dress.

 _Make him wonder. Why not?_

As Ganet passed him on her way back to the suitcase opened up on her bed, he asked, "You're sure this is a work thing?"

Ganet bent over to hide her smirk as she tucked in her clothes. "Yeah. I'm contacting a client's brother on behalf of his sister-in-law. She's Habesha so naturally I got the assignment."

"Habesha? Is that Eritrean Habesha? Amhara? Tigre?"

Ganet sucked air through her teeth. "Is that you talking or your parents?" The whole reason she preferred to call herself Habesha was to downplay all that ethnic drama.

"It matters to a lot of people. You can't deny that. You can't just walk in without—"

"Well, the man I'm going to see is none of those. He's just a plain old American."

"White?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

Yonas folded his arms. "Well, I should come with you."

"Just like that?" And Ganet knew Yonas could—buy a ticket at the last minute and pick up and go just like that. His father owned a string of mattress stores. Hers drove a taxi. "I can handle this on my own."

"Some strange white guy? In some out-of-the-way mountain town up in Idaho? What if he's, I don't know, some sort of survivalist guy."

Ganet bit her lip. Then she strode away from Yonas into her bathroom. _Survivalist guy._ That's not at all how Oscar Keefers had described his brother, but that's exactly the worry that had crossed her mind. If Abel Keefers had really been a UCLA professor, wouldn't she have found some trace of him on the Internet? A crazy backwoods survivalist was the most likely candidate for someone as absent from the grid as he was.

"I don't need a big brother with me," Ganet called out as she collected her shampoo, hair oil and relaxer into her toiletries bag. "I'm a big girl myself." As she turned to exit her bathroom, she saw Yonas blocking the doorway.

"I'm not your brother. I'm not even your cousin."

Ganet gave him a sarcastic smile. "You'd think your mother would have been happy my grandparents are from Asmara. No chance we're related for seven generations and counting." She pushed around him.

"Come on, Konjo. Let me keep you company. It's a long flight. Probably a long drive. Plenty of time for you and me to figure out how to handle my family."

Handle his family? Ganet had wanted Yonas to stand up to his family. She tapped her foot. "I don't have the energy for this. I've got to be at the airport by six-thirty."

"At least let me give you a ride." Yonas smiled. "If I stay the night, we can get up nice and early."

Ganet turned away before he could see her roll her eyes. She stowed her last necessities and zipped her suitcase. "This is a big assignment for me. I need to prep before I go to sleep, and I don't need distractions. But if you think you can get here by six…"

When Ganet turned back, Yonas gave her a mock pout, but she saw renewed confidence in his eyes. He thought he had her again—sleepovers, club dates, a little rebellion against his parents. But if his father objected to the Eritrean who'd upset his mother, Yonas would stay in line. If he didn't, he might have to actually work for a living.

"By six," he repeated.

Ganet nodded. "Not a second later."

 **Saturday Morning**

At dawn Saturday, Ganet packed her car, drove out of her condo's underground garage and re-parked a little ways up the block. She looked back through her rear window, wondering if Yonas would really manage to show up by six. Three minutes before, he did.

 _Not too shabby_. When she got back from Idaho, she might just give him another chance. _If only I could get him to stop watching porn._

Gunning her motor, Ganet pulled away from the curb, headed for Western Avenue, the entrance to the 10 freeway and on to LAX. Why would she need a ride to the airport when Dr. Keefers' travel arrangements included a voucher for terminal parking?

 **Late Saturday Afternoon**

When Ganet drove into Bierce, Idaho eleven hours later, she wondered whether taking this assignment was such a good idea after all. In the air by 9:30 a.m., in a rented Subaru and on the road by one p.m., and she still wasn't at her destination. The further from Los Angeles and the deeper into Idaho she journeyed, the more out of her element she felt. Since getting off the plane she'd seen one Habesha—the man who drove the van to the rental cars. Since getting on the road, she'd seen fewer and fewer non-whites altogether. The last African American she'd seen had manned the counter where she'd stopped for lunch. In the tiny mountain town through which she was now driving, she might be the only one.

 _And I need gas._

Bierce appeared to be one long collection of buildings along ID-11—Quonset huts, a couple of strip malls and a dozen boxy buildings with wooden verandas and awnings straight out of an old Western. As she pulled up to the pump in the non-chain gas station, she let her gaze rove between the mechanic under the jacked up Chevy and the two old-timers leaning against the red pickup. When she caught them eyeing her and then the back of her Subaru, she knew they'd placed her as a fish out of water. Quickly, she averted her gaze and exited her car. _Self-service. Thank goodness._ But when she looked at the pumps more closely, she realized they weren't equipped to take credit cards.

 _Shoot. I'm going to have to interact._


	3. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **A Moment Later**

Ganet scanned the gas station. Raising her chin, she walked toward the mechanic then noticed the older of the two chatterers, the one with the mountain man beard, waving her over.

"Hey little lady, your horse needs to hitch up to the trough?"

Ganet put on her most ingratiating smile. "Yeah, thirsty little sucker, especially on these mountain roads. Do you—do you take credit cards?"

The old man made a big deal of flicking his gaze up then over at his friend. "Credit cards, Tim? Aren't those them newfangled pieces of plastic them thar big city folk think can be used for money?"

Tim punched his arm. "Stop messing around. Can't you see she's far from home?" He ambled over to Ganet's car. "You already have the gas cap off. Let me fill 'er up. Roger'll run your card."

Ganet felt her cheeks warming. _Stupid. Of course they take credit cards._ "Sorry. It's just I—"

"Long day?" Roger strode toward the gas station office.

Ganet hurried to keep pace. "I flew out of Los Angeles at nine, and I still have a few hours of driving to go."

"A few hours?" Roger walked in and slipped behind the counter. "So, where you headed?"

"Wayward Pines." Ganet was about to ask if he'd heard of it, when his frown told her he had.

"That's more than a few hours, little lady. That's at least as far as you drove getting here from Boise. Do you have friends there? Someone you know?"

"Just a client I'm supposed to meet. This is a business trip."

"What kind of business you in that they'd send you to a place like Wayward Pines? That town—it kind of has a reputation."

 _Reputation?_ "I'm in social work. Family mediation, things like that. I'm supposed to interview a man who separated from his wife and took their child. His brother thinks I can straighten things out so that he'd consider coming back home." Ganet paused, reluctant to ask her next question but even more reluctant not to know. "This reputation—is it for cults, militias, survivalists?"

Roger cocked his head to the wall behind the counter—to the mounted moose head and the two rifles displayed on a rack. "You mean people who love guns?"

 _Awkward!_ Before Ganet could think of a proper, backtracking reply, she heard Tim walking up behind her. "He's teasing you again. We're hunters, like most of the folk around here, but were not the sort that stockpile AK-47s and anti-personnel ordinance. And neither are the people up at Wayward Pines. They're a bit… stranger."

 _Stranger?_

Nodding, Roger rang up the amount Tim told him. He kept talking while Ganet slid her card and punched in her information. "They were working on some big project up there—working on it for years. Top-secret. The kind of thing not too popular in Idaho, especially when all the jobs went to out-of-state workers, no offense. Whatever it was, it must've gone bust. Wayward Pines was dying before the project started. Now it's taken up dying again. I haven't ventured up there in a while. Not much reason to."

"Last November, Ed Mustin was up that way elk hunting. He says most of the businesses have shut down."

"At least the inn hasn't," Ganet said. "I have a reservation."

"Reservation?" Roger chuckled. "What'll you bet you're the only guest this month?"

"Best get on your way," Tim said. "The road to Wayward Pines is not one you'll be wanting to drive after dark."

 **An Hour Later**

As the highway started to climb again, weaving through the evergreens, Ganet kept glancing at the sun. It seemed to hang above the horizon a little longer than it did in LA. The uneasiness she'd felt at being out of her comfort zone kept growing. So she did what she always did in situations of uncertainty: she called her baby sister.

"You set up that Bluetooth I got you for graduation?" Rahel asked.

"Yes," Ganet lied. At least she had her phone on speaker mode. Holding the steering wheel with both hands was a necessity on this twisty mountain road.

"I'm glad you called. Yonas has been acting like a crazy man. He's been phoning around, claiming you're missing. Why else wouldn't you be in your condo when he showed up to drive you to the airport?" Rahel's laughter was crisp and clear in the car. "I told him you're fine, that you can take care of business without him. I don't think he liked hearing that."

"Hah. He'd've liked the real reason even less: I wanted to start my day without him." Ganet saw a hairpin curve coming up and began riding the brake.

"I take it visiting his folks didn't go well."

Even eight hundred miles away, Ganet's sister could read her. "It would've helped if he'd warned me his mother is the type of Amhara that cares whether other people are Amhara." Ganet paused as she swung the wheel for the turn. "It would've helped even more if he'd warned her I'm Eritrean."

"Bad?"

"My gift to the hostess went well. The meal was lovely. I picked up that the kitfo mitmita was his mother's pride and joy, so I ate three servings."

"Wow. I thought you couldn't stand raw beef."

"You'd've been proud." Ganet hauled the wheel around for another switchback. "But as she was roasting the coffee, she began talking about things back home. Seems the Eritreans are ruining Addis. They're speculators, usurers, and don't know how to drive. I listened to her until I felt steam coming out of my ears. Yonas didn't say a word."

"So you did."

"Right. Things went downhill from there." The sun flashed between the pines as Ganet entered a straightaway. She stepped on the gas.

"Look on the bright side," Rahel said. "At least his parents will never be meeting our parents."

"That's true. Until a year ago, I wouldn't even have known that might be a big deal." Not until she'd hit age twenty-five and was invited to fill out the Habesha Women in America Longitudinal Survey. At first, she'd thought it would be the easiest fifty bucks she'd ever made. The questions had been fun to answer—rather like a dating questionnaire—until she reached the branch out section designed for children of guerrilla fighters. As a social science major, she'd had too much respect for researchers to want to mess up their data. After all, the mama and baba she knew were a waitress and a taxi driver, not some kind of revolutionaries. But when she'd told the study assistant he'd sent her the wrong version, he'd assured her he hadn't. Weren't her parents Fenote Haile and Fekadu Dawit? Didn't she know they'd come to the U.S. on political asylum?

No, she hadn't. And after she'd confronted her parents, it took another week and the intercession of three aunties and two uncles before they'd tell her anything more. _Too painful to talk about_ , Baba had finally said, _the loss of a generation. Isn't it better to live in the present?_

"What gets me," Rahel said, "is Mama spent five years of her life sleeping on rocks with nothing but a bedroll and a Kalashnikov, yet when we were growing up, she wouldn't go camping."

"She refused to sleep anywhere without clean sheets."

"Seriously!"

Ganet twisted her wheel for another turn. "Actually, the whole freedom fighter thing makes me kind of proud. I just wish I'd heard it first from Mama and Baba."

For a moment, both sisters were silent. Ganet watched the sunlight twinkle across the tops of the pines. Then Rahel said, "I was looking forward to my chance to take that silly survey, I mean, fifty bucks. But this morning I got an email canceling my invitation. Apparently, the researchers collected all the data they need. And I could've really used the money! I blew a tire coming home from work, and now I'm riding on the spare."

 _Poor Rahel._ "Hey," Ganet said, "why don't you go over to my condo and water my plants? And while you're there, you can borrow money from the coffee can in my refrigerator. You can't miss it. My last roommate bought one of those freeze-dried brands. When she moved, I dumped it out. The canister makes a good hiding place. Who but someone who knows it holds money would ever want to open it?"

"You don't have to do that—"

"Yes, I do. I'm your big sister. You'll pay me back." On the next switchback up the mountain, Ganet saw something she wasn't expecting: another car, some prehistoric model not built for climbing steep roads. The hood was up, and the engine was smoking. As she approached, the man leaning against it straightened up and waved.

"You'll never believe what I'm looking at, Rahel. Some guy with a broken down car wants me to pull over. Should I—?"

"Don't you dare. Maybe he's a serial killer. I'll get off the phone so you can call Highway Patrol for him—or whatever it is they have in that backwoodsy state—but don't, whatever you do, stop."

Ganet turned her head to look at the guy as she drove on: young, athletic, wearing overalls but no shirt. He looked okay, but if she was wrong, well, she'd be stupid to risk it. "Okay, Rahel, I'll make a call for him, but I have no idea how to describe where he is."

"Ciao, Abaye. See you when you get back."

Ganet took another turn, and the stranded clunker disappeared from view. She reached out and began tapping numbers on her phone screen one-handed, glancing back and forth between it and the road. She was about to tap the green dial icon when she heard the blast of an eighteen-wheeler's air horn. Glancing up, she gasped. The truck was barreling toward her, the driver riding his horn the whole way.

Every muscle tensed up. Then Ganet jerked her wheel to the left. She was already over the center line, and to the left was a blessedly wide dirt shoulder up against the granite wall of the mountain. On the side of the road she was supposed to be on was a guard rail and a cliff. How deep the drop was, she didn't want to find out.

An instant later, her Subaru's wheels were digging into the dirt shoulder as the Eighteen-wheeler whizzed past. The driver didn't stop. Probably, he couldn't—not without jack-knifing and going over the edge himself.

In a few more yards, the dirt shoulder ended at a boulder, but Ganet's Subaru had already slowed enough for her to come to a complete stop.

When she did, she was shaking. _Wow_. On a road with almost zero traffic, she'd nearly been in a horrible accident. What were the chances? Her scalp was tingling. Wouldn't it have been ironic if she'd flipped her car and finished her roadside emergency call with a scream?

Ganet pressed back against the headrest and let out a whoop. Right now she felt like the luckiest girl alive.

Grabbing her phone, she pressed the dial icon. She might be fine, but the poor slob with the stalled car still needed help.


	4. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 **Saturday Evening**

Ganet pulled into Wayward Pines after sunset. Just as Roger had said, the town was dying. The short row of clapboard stores along Main Street was boarded up. The restaurant with the swinging sign simply stating "Café" was in business but already closed for the night. As she cruised up the next block, Ganet was relieved to see the porch light on at the Wayward Pines Inn. Except for an old Jeep, the parking lot was empty.

Ganet pulled to a stop beside the front porch. She slung her purse over her shoulder then fetched her suitcase from the back seat and lugged it up the front steps. Through the window, she saw a gray-haired old man snoozing on a stool behind the counter. When she pushed the door open, a bell at the top jingled. As the old man jerked awake, a little old lady toddled out of the back room and gave her a smile.

"We've been waiting up. Your room is ready. I turned the heater on a couple of hours ago. Should be nice and toasty."

Putting on a smile, Ganet rolled her suitcase up to the counter. "Do you need my credit card for a deposit?"

"No, dear. That won't be necessary. I doubt we need to worry about you damaging the furniture. After the drive you've had reaching us, I doubt you're in the mood to be rowdy."

As the old woman talked, the old man stared. Finally, he spoke up. "Don't see many like you around here—"

 _What's that supposed to mean?_

"—you know, pretty young things."

From the look of affectionate disapproval the old woman gave him, Ganet surmised they were married. She returned a faint smile. "My key?"

 **A Short While Later**

Ganet's motel room was more than toasty. In fact, it was an oven. The heater appeared to be some type of gas unit with a turnkey on-off control. The key was missing. She tried opening a window. All five in the spacious but rundown Victorian room were painted shut. As a last resort, she cracked the door to the hallway.

As she unpacked then shook out the outfit she planned to wear the next day, she heard footsteps shuffling up the hall. Turning her head, Ganet saw the little old lady. She held a tray with a bowl of vegetable stew and a plate of open-face cheese and salami sandwiches.

Ganet's stomach rumbled in appreciation. "You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense. This is the only way you'll get fed."

Ganet took the tray with a smile and placed it on the nightstand. When she reached for her purse, the old lady tsked.

"My pleasure. I always make a last meal—last meal for the evening—for guests at the Wayward Pines Inn. I think it ensures a pleasant sleep."

"Thank you. My mother never lets anyone cross our threshold without feeding them either."

"It's just decent manners. The way we're taught." The old woman turned to leave then looked back over her shoulder. "Be sure to lock your door up tight. Not that you have to worry about desperados breaking in. Goodness no, not anything like that. But we have raccoons in the attic. And they love my cooking."

Wild creatures scrabbling around while she slept? Of course, Ganet would lock her door. "Sure thing. See you in the morning."

 **Just Before Sleep**

Once Ganet was sufficiently fed, she pulled her notebook out of her purse and plugged it in. She wanted to study the history she'd written up for Saba and Abel one more time via Trust, Inc.'s virtual private network. Then she'd lay out the interview questions for Abel in their most persuasive order. But when she clicked the Internet icon, nothing. Apparently, the Wayward Pines Inn was in a dead zone.

 _Stupid. Why didn't I bring a flash drive?_

Ganet drummed her fingers on the antique wood desk. Then her eyes strayed to the notebook provided by the proprietors, the old-fashioned kind with blank sheets held together with a spiral wire.

Sighing, Ganet picked up the pen, tapped it against her chin and recalled what Oscar Keefers had told her.

Abel had met Saba in a refugee camp. A doctor of biology like his big brother, he'd been in the Horn of Africa studying the effects of regional conflicts on local fauna. After a few months of observations, he'd come to the conclusion that while ethnic conflicts reduced natural resources, it was the dwindling resources that had caused the conflicts in the first place. Troubled by the misery he saw, he'd switched his focus from ibexes and kudus to the masses of displaced humanity. And that's when he'd met Saba.

Ganet's first thought had been, _Typical nerd. A loser with the opposite sex who grabbed an opportunity to trade an offer of U.S. citizenship for a desperate woman's gratitude._ But Oscar Keefers had said otherwise. _I know what you're thinking, but trust me—it was love at first sight._

Ganet had to give his version the benefit of the doubt. After all, Saba's Asylum Visa had been approved the day before they met. Abel broke off his engagement to another biologist to propose a day later.

According to Oscar, after Abel brought his bride home, everyone agreed they were the perfect couple. Saba completed the baccalaureate degree she'd begun in Sudan and enrolled in a master's program. UCLA gave Abel a professorship. Together, they raised a lovely daughter.

 _I swear to you, my sister-in-law was happy. What none of us realized was that the only way she managed that was by ignoring her homeland altogether. Then an old comrade-in-arms visited, and she started paying attention. The more broadcasts she saw, the more newspapers she read, the more depressed she became. She read articles, went to lectures, saw documentaries and let everything else slide. I told her to put things in perspective—that threats to populations and environments were widespread, that her people weren't the most pitiful on the face of the earth. All that did was make her depression worse._

As Ganet let Oscar's story replay in her memory, she lay her head on the desk—partly because the room's heat was making her sleepy and partly because this case was making her feel bad about her parents. When she'd found out they'd kept secrets from her, she'd felt betrayed, but if remembering their past was as unbearable for them as it was for Saba, she'd been a horrible daughter for pestering them to talk about it.

Stretching her hand out, Ganet jotted down, "Wife's inability to come to terms with survivor guilt took toll on marriage. Did husband resent it?"

 _Abel stood by Saba through everything_ , Oscar Keefers had said. _That's not the issue. It's the solution she found—a brand new cause—that… resulted in the separation. I… I… well, all I can say is that the only way out now is for you to talk to my brother._

Too groggy to lift her head, Ganet stared at her notepad like she'd stared at Dr. Keefers the day before. He'd readily claimed the fault for Abel and Saba's separation, but he had been stone-cold silent about why. And none of the open-ended questions she had tried had drawn it out of him.

Ganet yawned. The only thing she could do tomorrow was get Abel to talk. _That is, if he'll see me. Or if I can even locate his address without the Internet._

Slowly, Ganet struggled to her feet. _Why does my head feel so strange?_ Too drowsy to turn off the light, she stumbled to the bed and collapsed.


	5. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 **Next Morning (Give or Take)**

When Ganet woke up, she wasn't lying on the cute little four-poster Victorian featherbed in which she had fallen asleep at the Wayward Pines Inn. She was on a firm hospital bed with the side rails up. Also, she was no longer sweating from a gas furnace blazing away on a spring night. On the contrary, she was freezing.

 _What happened to me?_

She tried lifting her head off the pillow but her muscles felt drained as though she'd been dancing the Eskista seven hours straight at a wedding feast. Helpless, she scanned the room until she saw a pudgy little man with a bald head and tiny black eyes like raisins in rice pudding. When she caught his gaze, he grinned. _My doctor?_ No. He was holding a glass vase of daffodils—as if he were a family friend come to visit. But she'd never seen him before in her life.

"Good morning. I'm so glad we finally woke you. It's been a long, long time. I hope you're eager to get to work. I need you."

Ganet stared at him. "Do you know me?" _Or think you know me?_

His smile fell a little. "Aftereffects. Everybody experiences them. Don't worry. They'll wear off. Then your memories will come back, good as new."

 _Come back? They never went away—except for the part where I ended up here._ "What happened to me? Was it the heater? Carbon monoxide poisoning?"

The man's frown deepened. Then he marched over to the door and yelled down the hall, "Pam! More fluids. Make sure they're warmed to forty-three degrees Celsius."

Turning back, the pudgy little man approached Ganet's bed and patted her hand. "Don't worry. Nobody expects you to start working today. Tomorrow is soon enough for that."

As Ganet tried to make sense of what he was saying, a nurse wheeled in an IV drip, but she wasn't like any nurse she'd ever seen before. With her fashion-magazine looks and tailored white uniform, she looked more like some porn film fantasy of a nurse.

The odd little man kept talking. "Abel and Candace came out first. I gave them a few months to get their bearings. They're doing well, all things considered. As soon as you're fully recovered, Pam will call Abel to take you home. Your clothes are already laid out on the chair."

"Abel?" Ganet murmured. "Abel Keefers?" She'd come to Wayward Pines to convince him to return to Los Angeles. Now he'd be taking her? Somehow, by getting laid flat on her back by a malfunctioning heater, she'd managed to accomplish what she'd set out to accomplish? _That makes no sense at all._

The man's smile returned. "You're remembering." He stepped back as Nurse Pam moved in with the IV line. Ganet got a sharp whiff of alcohol as she swabbed the back of her hand. When the needle jabbed a vein, she winced.

"Things haven't developed as I'd expected." The little man sighed. "But isn't that always the way? It's time to put your special skills to use. You're going to be a big help to me, Saba."

Before Ganet could decide how to respond, the little man nodded and he and Pam left the room.

 **After Twenty Minutes**

As the IV spread warmth through her body, Ganet relaxed, already seeing this whole experience as a funny story for her next get-together with her cousins. _That silly old man thought I was Saba Iskander. Proof positive—to some Farenji, we all look alike._

Nurse Pam returned. She pulled an old-fashioned thermometer out of her breast pocket, gave it three shakes then poked into Ganet's mouth. "Under your tongue. Don't bite down."

 _Bite down? On a glass tube holding mercury?_ Afraid of cracking it and sending shards and poison into her gums, Ganet lay perfectly still.

When Nurse Pam seemed satisfied with her compliance, she picked up her wrist to measure her pulse. "You're taking a little longer to warm up than I'd thought. With most people I can spot that telltale gray tinge right away. With you, that's a wee bit harder."

 _Is she talking about what I think she's talking about?_

Nurse Pam's smile spread. "I'm talking about your dark skin, of course. Not that we don't all love it. We've been needing a little biodiversity around here."

Ganet widened her eyes. _Biodiversity?_ She stared at the nurse, aching for a witty comeback but afraid to risk a mishap with the thermometer. When at last the nurse removed it, she ventured, "May I have my phone?"

"Your phone?" Nurse Pam's eyes narrowed. "You mean, a hospital room phone? Don't worry. You won't be here long enough to have use for a phone. In a few more hours you'll have warmed up enough to get some rose back into that brown. Then you'll be on your way." She stepped back and ran her gaze down Ganet's arms and back up to her face. "I see it now. When gray's mixed with brown, it looks like mud."

 **A Minute Later**

The way Nurse Pam fussed with the Venetian blinds made Ganet nervous. She watched her adjust the angle until the sun shone straight into her eyes. Not until Ganet raised her hand to shield them did the nurse say, "Is the light bothering you?" and slant them back the way they were.

When Ganet opened her eyes again, Nurse Pam was fluffing the daffodils. She did it so vigorously that one orange bloom broke off. She simpered over her shoulder. "Oops." Then she crushed the broken flower in her hand. "David thinks highly of you."

 _Of Saba, you mean_. Wary of a confrontation, Ganet nodded. She suspected that the David's regard for who he thought she was might be the only thing keeping Nurse Pam from doing something meaner than wreck her bouquet. If she had her cell phone, she'd record the woman for YouTube. Without proof, convincing someone the nurse had menaced her might be hard to do.

"Don't let David down," Nurse Pam continued, "or you'll answer to me."

When it became clear that nodding would not make the intimidating beauty queen go away, Ganet began a slow series of blinks, at last lowering her lids and deepening her respiration until she was miming the rhythm of sleep—the same trick she and Rahel used when staying over at Auntie Tezeta's before sneaking out with their cousins to go clubbing.

It worked. Not only did Ganet hear the nurse's rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the floor, she even heard the door closing. Opening her eyes, she stared at her palm until she noted an encouraging pinkness. Good enough. She pulled out the IV.

 _Stay another few hours? In this creepy place? Uh-uh. I've got to go find a phone._


	6. Chapter Six

**.**

 **CHAPTER SIX**

 **Midmorning Sunday**

Ganet crouched on the hospital bed, running her gaze along the railing, considering the best place to scramble over it. When she was at her usual peak of good health, rock climbing was one of her prides. With the way her muscles were feeling—as insubstantial as cotton candy—she was afraid she might tumble straight to the floor.

At last, Ganet decided on the gap between the back and side railings and crawled down the mattress to reach it. Holding the rail as tightly as she'd held the cable when she'd climbed Half Dome, she lowered herself off the bed. The change of position dropped her blood pressure enough to make her vision start to blur. When her feet reached the chilly floor, she continued clinging until the fog had cleared from her brain.

 _So far, so good._

Ganet spied the pile of clothes the funny old man had mentioned waiting for her on the opposite side of the room. If she could make it to that chair, she could sit while she dressed.

With her hands straight out in case she fell, Ganet staggered across the room, grabbed the clothing then collapsed on the seat. After she caught her breath, she examined the jeans. Then she grimaced.

 _Shoot. These must belong to Saba_. And while Ganet prided herself on her slender figure, the waistline on the jeans showed that her counterpart was downright skinny. With a succession of wiggles and tugs that left her dizzy, she struggled into them.

When she held up the bra, Ganet smirked. _I don't mind being bigger in that department_. Luckily, it was an odd front-hooking style that didn't require a lot of energy to put on.

The sweater was different—so large and bulky that Ganet wondered whether it belonged to Saba's husband. When she looked at the label and saw "Small," she lifted her eyebrows. Then she remembered Saba's retro 80's hair. The sweater had to be vintage, too—one of those crazy, oversized monstrosities meant to make their wearers look like little girls playing dress-up.

By the time Ganet had clothed herself, right down to wedging her feet into the tight-but-wearable striped-denim shoes, she realized her exertions had gotten her blood pumping. Once she'd drunk some warm water from the bathroom tap, she'd be ready to take on the world—or at least find a phone and call someone to come get her.

 **Five Minutes Later**

When Ganet saw the hallway outside her room and the large number of doors ranged down it, she wondered whether emergency personnel had helicoptered her from the mountains to one of Idaho's larger towns. Then she passed a housekeeping cart with a massive laundry bag labeled "Wayward Pines Community Hospital" and realized they hadn't. Probably, the facility had been built to accommodate all the out-of-state workers on the big secret project Roger and Tim had mentioned. A peek through each open door she passed showed empty rooms, confirming their story the project had been discontinued.

By the time the hall reached a t-turn, Ganet felt fuzzy again. In one direction, she saw double doors leading, no doubt, to a front desk and a lobby. In the opposite direction was a single door marked "Fire Exit."

 _Do I want to meet up with Nurse Pam again?_

Raising her chin, Ganet headed toward the smaller door.

 **A Minute After That**

When Ganet reached the street, she began to doubt gas station Tim's assertion that Wayward Pines was dying. The town looked more like a ski resort than a mysterious project that had fallen apart. As she walked up the Main Street sidewalk toward the center of town, she wondered why she'd never heard of such a cute little vacation spot. She passed a cottage turned into a restaurant with tables crowding a brick patio strung with party lights. Too bad it wasn't yet open for her to use the phone. A block further, the storefronts had the look of an Alpine village. She passed a toy store called "Wooden Treasures" with hand-carved rocking horses and music boxes in the window, then a jewelry shop displaying one-of-a-kind necklaces and a clothing boutique full of retro styles Saba would love.

 _Last night, I must have entered town by some back way. This is definitely not the section of Main Street I drove through before._

By the end of the block, the crisp mountain air was clearing Ganet's head though her legs still felt wobbly. She smiled at the first couple she saw—prelude to asking for directions—but their expressions remained the same, neither happy nor sad, more like blank. Their gazes slid away from hers and they walked on but, when she turned her head to look back, she found them staring.

Feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature, Ganet folded her arms and quickened her pace. Those two were certainly less friendly than her gas station pals in Bierce had been. Probably from Los Angeles like she was.

The next person she passed and the next and the next acted the same—looking but not reacting, seeing but avoiding contact. When she reached the lamppost at the end of the block, she leaned against it. The thought struck her that they were treating her as though she might be a threat.

 _Good grief! A black face can't be that alien and scary here, can it?_

Then Ganet saw a sign up the next block just past a hotel, "The Steaming Bean," that had to be a coffee place—a good bet for finding a telephone. With new resolve, she resumed walking. But when her glance through the front window was met with the same mix of watchfulness and avoidance, she pushed on.

 _What am I going to do now?_

Glancing up, she saw a sign reading "The Biergarten." Just when she was vacillating about whether to brave more unfriendly stares, a waitress poked her head around the front door and grinned. "Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air? Come on in. Welcome to our little town."


	7. Chapter Seven

**.**

 **CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **A Second Later**

The waitress stepped back and swept out her arm. "Welcome. I'm Beverly. Call me Bev."

Ganet smiled. "I'm—" She stopped. No sense inviting the quizzical stare that usually resulted from offering her distinctly non-Western name. Instead, she adjusted her response to, "I'm pleased to meet you. May I use your phone?"

"Not from out there, you can't. The phone's attached to the wall." Bev leaned forward. "You're not one of those people who's going to ask to use my cell, are you? What's wrong with you guys? We're a pub not a jail, thank you very much. And don't try to describe some science fiction gizmo. No, ma'am. Not to me. Next you folk'll be asking to use my tricorder! Here we have one phone and one phone only—and it's firmly attached to the wall." She slapped one hand against the other as if brushing off foolish notions. "That's how it is and that's that."

Ganet stared, not sure if she'd just witnessed another amusing anecdote for her cousins or a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Before she could think of an excuse to keep walking, another waitress stepped through the doorway and squeezed Beverly's shoulder. Her eyes held the no-nonsense look of someone incapable of ever losing control over what she said.

"I'm Jennifer Rochester. Don't call me Jen." She tipped her head toward the pub—a gesture not as expansive as Beverly's but an invitation nonetheless. "I never owned a cellular phone myself—too bulky to be practical—but the bar's phone is at your disposal."

Ganet let Jennifer's dismissal of cell phones slide. _Only so many odd things I can process at a time._ Assured the older waitress had calmed her co-worker, she took a deep breath and entered the Biergarten. As she passed, Jennifer murmured, "Welcome to the tea party."

 **One Minute After**

The clock above the bar said eleven a.m. No wonder the place was empty. The telephone Jennifer offered was the bar's private line. As Bev had noted, a wire attached it to the wall. One detail she'd forgotten to mention was that it was rotary—something Ganet had only seen in old movies.

"It may take me more than one call to reach my family." She gave Jennifer her best apologetic smile.

"People trying multiple numbers isn't unusual. Don't worry. We don't get many calls—and fewer that I care to answer. Use the phone as long as you like."

Ganet didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until her gratitude made her release it. On a Sunday, no telling which aunt, uncle, brother, sister, cousin or church friend her parents might be visiting. She just hoped she could remember enough numbers to locate them. "My calls will all be to the Los Angeles area, but I'll reverse the charges."

"Ah, California." Jennifer smiled. Then she turned around to straighten the liquor bottles lining the back of the bar. "Don't bother calling collect. The phone is on the house."

 **Twenty Minutes After**

Ganet exhausted all the numbers she remembered. _Dammit. I need the contact information on my cell_. But still—having called her parents, Rahel, Yonas, eight aunts and uncles, six cousins, three college friends and manager Judy for good measure only to hear endless ringing was… odd. At least one call should have triggered a voice mail.

As Ganet returned the receiver to its cradle, she saw Jennifer busily polishing the same section of mirror as the last time she'd looked. When she caught her eye, the waitress strolled over.

"No luck." Jennifer didn't make the phrase a question. She made it a statement of fact.

"Is the line working?" Ganet asked.

Jennifer returned a lopsided smile. "Try dialing 'O' for operator. That's always a treat. I'm here if you need me." Picking a new section of mirror, she gave it a vigorous rub.

 **Forty Minutes After**

The second time Ganet hung up the receiver, she felt as shaken as she had when she'd veered out of the path of the eighteen-wheeler. Nobody completely trusted technology—not really—so twenty-one telephone calls leading to nothing but endless ringing was easy to explain as a messed up connection. But a phone company employee calmly assuring her that she had indeed gotten through to Los Angeles and indeed had reached no one, well—that was eerie.

"No luck," Jennifer repeated. This time, she made it sound final.

When Ganet had felt woozy in the hospital, liquids had helped. She reached for the glass of water Beverly had set beside her and took a long sip. Funny that the waitress had known to warm it first.

"Wayward Pines… what the hell is this place?" Ganet asked.

"Good guess," Jennifer replied.

From the far end of the bar, Beverly drew a sharp breath that sounded like a sob.

Ganet looked from one woman to the other. "Come on, now. Don't be ridiculous."

Jennifer shrugged. "I prefer to think some long-eared gentleman in a waistcoat with a fancy gold watch is loitering somewhere nearby."

Ganet gave a breathy laugh. Even though Rahel was the literature major in the family, that didn't mean Big Sister hadn't read an old book or two.

Jennifer wrung out her bar rag. "And if I can't find him, maybe I can find the right looking glass."

 **Fifty Minutes After**

Ganet sat at the bar considering her situation. Despite Jennifer Rochester's Alice-down-the-rabbit-hole allusion, she had a few sensible options left. Her purse and suitcase had been absent from her hospital room. They were probably still with the elderly couple who ran the Wayward Pines Inn. The rented Subaru held enough gas to get her back to Bierce. All she had to do now was keep going down Main Street until she reached the rundown section of town, and she'd be on her way.

The only problem was that Ganet didn't know what illness she'd had. She wasn't sure she could walk much further than the three blocks it had taken to reach here. When she swiveled on her barstool to ask Jennifer whether Wayward Pines had a taxi service, she saw the older woman reading in a booth. Her book was "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland."

Before Ganet could catch her eye, Jennifer looked up at someone coming in the Biergarten's front door. "Sheriff Pope. We've been expecting you."


End file.
